Anguish
by You'reMyKindOfTrouble
Summary: Daryl struggles to cope with Beth's death, and everyone is broken. Sometimes, though, grief is easier when it's shared. (Rated for language and canon-typical violence, very angsty.) Caryl.


**Here we go! This is considerably longer than what i usually write, and way more angsty but I hope you enjoy anyway :) Drop me a line and tell me what you think!**

**Disclaimer: I don't have anything to do with TWD. Promise.**

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That first night after Beth's death they slept in a house large enough for them to all grieve in privacy, and everyone took advantage of the space to sleep in separate rooms. Before they all split off, though, they gathered in the living room and sat, mostly in silence, as the sun went down and was eventually replaced by the light of one solitary lantern on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Carol was curled up at one end of a sofa, still a little foggy from the medication she'd been on, although the ache in her side and back served as a reminder of the cracked rib and heavy bruising she'd suffered after being hit by the police car. Daryl was on the floor, leaning up against the side of the sofa, and her fingertips threaded through his hair as he tilted his face upwards, resting it on the arm rest. Carl was nuzzled up against her other side, one arm wrapped around Carol's waist as his cheek lay against her good shoulder and she rubbed his arm in silence. Rick was next to him, cuddling Judith against his chest and murmuring at her in response to her unintelligible coos.

Carol eyed Maggie with concern. She'd been completely mute once her hysterical screams had died down outside the hospital, and was propped against the wall with her knees drawn up as silent tears ran down her cheeks and her unfocused gaze settled disconcertingly straight ahead of her. Glenn was sitting next to her, her limp hand cradled in his on his lap but otherwise not touching her.

Rosita slipped in from the hallway with a bag slung over her shoulder. Carol vaguely heard the sound of full tins rattling and slowly turned her head to see, not wanting to jostle Carl, who had sought her out immediately for some comfort. Rosita was kneeling on the carpet, quietly pulling tin cans out and reading them by the lantern light.

"It's cold, but there's beef stew and spaghetti here." She offered. Nobody replied. She heard Daryl sigh and lean against her fingers a little more so she resumed stroking her fingers through his hair, figuring any contact was better than none. "You have to eat." Rosita carried on, her voice just above a whisper. "All of you. We need to keep our strength up."

"Leave it." Abraham muttered. "Nobody's hungry."

"I don't care." She returned from the floor. "I know I never knew her but none of you can keep going without any food, okay?" The oppressive silence fell again and after a moment she determinedly began opening cans with her knife and scooping the contents onto some plates she'd found in the kitchen. She placed the first plate on Abraham's lap and he looked at it but didn't touch it. She went around the room, giving each person a portion of food and then slid down the wall next to Tara, and watched them all listlessly prod at their food without eating any. Maggie didn't even seem to recognize that anything had happened. When nobody made a move to eat, she nudged Tara with her shoulder and glanced meaningfully at the plate until Tara reluctantly scooped up some spaghetti and put it in her mouth. Rosita mimicked her. They both managed a couple of mouthfuls before Rosita snapped at them all. "Eat! For christsakes, I'm not lugging your sorry asses around when you run out of energy!"

Everyone jumped at the sudden noise and Tyreese pulled the blackout curtain back a little to check that the noise hadn't attracted any walkers to the only window in the room. Carl sat up a little and placed Carol's plate in her lap.

"You should eat something." He whispered lowly. "Just a little bit."

She pushed his hair back off his face fondly and gently squeezed his shoulder. "You too, sweetheart." He nodded and began to pick at his food, spearing individual pieces of vegetable from the stew and slowly eating them. "Rick." She said, her voice feeling odd and thick from misuse. "Give Judith a little stew. She might be hungry enough to eat it." He nodded and sat the little girl down in his lap to offer her some broth with a plastic spoon.

Eventually, everyone managed to down a mouthful or two, but no more. The food turned to sawdust in their mouths and after her efforts to cajole people into eating failed, Rosita scraped the food back into their tins and sighed.

"You know you're eating this for breakfast, right?" She muttered under her breath as she covered the open tins with a few dish-drying cloths to keep insects out.

The silence ran on for another long while.

They'd buried Beth in a small clearing near the house. It was a beautiful spot, with sunlight streaming in through the trees and birds singing in the treetops. It hadn't taken long for them to dig a shallow grave, but both Daryl and Rick had paused at separate times to drop to their knees and let tears fall next to their discarded shovels once Abraham had left to help clear the house and shift furniture. At one point, once the grave was complete, Daryl had sat between the roots of the nearest tree and stared mutely into the hole, his chest rising and falling hard as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Rick had knelt next to him and rested his hand on his shoulder, breathing deeply to hold his own tears. By the time the funeral had begun, nobody had any more tears to cry. Maggie had become animated for a fleeting moment, but only briefly.

"She's with Daddy." She had choked, fresh tears beginning. "They're together now."

They'd buried her in silence, and each of them had paused to touch the cross and whisper their own private goodbyes. The sun hung low in the sky as they retreated into the house, morose and unspeaking.

"I'm going to try get some sleep." Abraham said abruptly. "Wake me at midnight for watch." He nodded to Tyreese and headed to the room he had chosen with Rosita. Rick stood with Judith in his arms.

"I'm going to turn in, too. Carl," He beckoned. "You need some sleep." Carl nodded and reluctantly began to extricate himself from Carol's embrace, before changing his mind.

"Can I stay here? Just for a little while." Rick glanced at Carol who shrugged.

"Alright, fine… Only a little while, though. G'night, everyone." He said as he left, bouncing Judith lightly in his arms. Carl settled back against her and nuzzled into her shoulder.

The rest of the group drifted away to their rooms as the lantern grew dim. Eventually, it was just Carol, Daryl and Carl tucked into one corner of the empty room. Carl was half-asleep, slumping more and more heavily onto Carol's side as his breathing became deeper and slower while she rubbed his arm with her thumb. She wasn't sure if Daryl had fallen asleep on the floor next to her, but she continued to run her fingers through his hair nonetheless.

"Sweetheart," She whispered, jostling him gently. "Carl, wake up." He jerked violently and his arm that had been hugging her flew to his belt, seeking his knife as he woke suddenly. She grabbed his wrist before his fingers could close over the handle and he froze, wide-eyed. "It's okay." She soothed, releasing his wrist.

"I'm sorry." He breathed. "I didn't mean-"

She hushed him and pulled him closer, kissing his forehead. "I know. You should go on to bed… It's late and you need to rest some."

"Okay." He mumbled. "Thanks, Carol." He detangled himself carefully, making sure not to jostle her. "Goodnight…" He murmured, leaning around to see if Daryl was still awake.

"Night, kid." Daryl muttered. Carl slipped away into the hallway.

She sat up more in her corner of the sofa and eased her fingers back through his hair. He groaned softly and leaned into her touch more, tilting his head a little. She took the opportunity to slide her fingers down to his chin and turn his head to face her and he gave her a half-hearted quirk of his lips and closed his eyes. She stroked his jaw with light fingertips, watching his face relax for a moment from the hard mask he'd been wearing since the funeral.

His eyes were still red, as she imagined hers to be, and the dark circles beneath them emphasized the utter exhaustion on his face. He brought one hand up to grab her fingers and held them tightly in his grip.

"Should get some sleep." He said dully. "You're hurt."

"I can't walk." She sighed. He dropped her hand and pushed himself up off the floor, groaning as he did so. He moved to scoop her up and she made a pained noise as the pain in her back, side and dislocated shoulder surged. "Put me down!" She managed, gritting her teeth. "Put me down!"

He eased her back down onto the sofa as quickly as he could, dropping down to one knee in concern. He felt ill as he watched her breathe shallowly through her nose, eyes screwed shut in pain as she wrapped her good arm around her midsection.

"Fuck," He choked. "Sorry. I didn't mean t-"

"It's okay." She hissed in pain. "You didn't mean to."

"I'ma get you a blanket. You ain't getting' up again." He rose to his feet but she shook her head.

"I want to sleep in a proper bed." She murmured once the pain dulled. "I just need a little help getting there."

"Ain't carryin' you if it's gonna hurt you." He folded his arms.

"Help me, then." She reached for him with her good arm. With a sigh, he ducked under her arm and eased her to her feet. He wrapped his arm around her waist and splayed his hand flat against her side, trying not to put pressure on any one spot. Her legs were weak when she tried to take a step, and he found himself holding her tighter than he'd intended to so he could take her weight and help her out into the hallway.

They shuffled painfully down to the furthest bedroom, making Daryl curse himself for his selfish need to be as far from the others as possible. When they finally reached the room, she was pale and a cold sweat had broken out across her forehead. He eased her into a sitting position on the bed and then lowered her until she was lying down before going to work on her boots, tugging the knots undone and pulling them off as carefully as he could. He placed them at the end of the bed and eyed her thin shirt.

"You warm enough?" He asked in the dim light of the solar lamp in the corner of the room. Her eyes were shut and her face was lax, but she hummed in confirmation. "Y'want water?"

"No." She said softly. "I'm okay."

"Yeah." He sighed. "'Part from the internal bleedin' an' cracked ribs."

"I'm not bleeding internally, Daryl." She smiled a little. "I'm okay."

"Noah reckons you had internal damage, reckon he saw more'n you did when they took you in." He argued.

"We were there for three days, Daryl. That's enough time to stop internal bleeding. My ribs hurt and I'm tired and my head's all fuzzy but I'm fine."

He snorted. "You're bat-shit crazy is what you are."

She chuckled softly. "Maybe. You going to sleep any time soon?" She patted the mattress next to her.

"I'll grab a couple blankets once I've done another check… Sleep on the floor." He fiddled with a rip in his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. She sighed at him, but her little smile told him she wasn't really angry.

"Daryl." She grumbled.

"What?" He grumbled back. She rolled onto her side, hissing as she did so, and he rushed to her with an alarmed expression. "Jesus, Carol!" He scolded. "Sit still, would you?"

She laid her hand over his that was resting on her hip and rubbed his knuckles. His fingers twitched but he left them there. "Sleep here." She suggested softly. "You don't have to sleep on the floor."

He drew his hand away then. "Naw," He protested. "I'll bump you or somethin'."

"Please?" She tried. "I keep seeing her face."

His fingers crept back across the bedspread to brush against hers. "Beth?" He murmured, feeling her absence like a punch to his chest.

"Yeah." Tears were welling in her bloodshot eyes. "She was holding my hand when I woke up… She looked so alone." A strangled sob escaped her. "I really thought we'd be okay." She spat. "You know? Just one little girl… I thought at least one of them would make it."

"Hey, hey." He tried to soothe her despite the ache in his throat and the tears blurring his own eyes. "Don't…"

"Don't what?" She snapped, yanking her hand away. "Don't be upset?" She curled in on herself a little. "You think I should be used to it by now, or something?" He gaped at her, unable to react quickly through his own grief and exhaustion. Her eyes widened and he saw something in her break. "Screw you, Daryl." She hissed. "Go away."

"What?" He managed. "Carol, what the _fuck-_"

"Just get out!" She cried. He crouched, frozen, next to the bed for a while until she shot him a vicious glare and threw her arm over her eyes. Wordlessly, he rose to his feet and left, allowing his anger and pain to boil over as he slammed the door behind him. It felt good to let his feeling out and he found himself uncaring when the sudden loud noise startled Judith into crying behind one of the closed doors he stalked past.

Carol hugged the pillow desperately to her chest and felt her tears run down her temples and into her hair, but she'd long since lost the motivation to wipe them away. No matter how frantically she scrubbed at her stinging eyes and cheeks, more tears fell to take their place. The slam of the door had echoed like a gunshot in the room when Daryl left and she found herself shaking violently, twisting her fingers in the comforter and curling into the fetal position on her side, screaming silently into the pillow she now clutched so tightly. The echo of the door quickly morphed into the sharp retort of Beth's brains being sprayed against Rick's skin and she dug her fingernails into her palms. Lizzie's skinny frame flopped forward onto the bright patch of wildflowers, painting them crimson and her teeth broke the skin on her bottom lip. The sound of gunshots morphed into the sickening crunch of her knife punching through Mika's temple, which drowned out the sound of her pathetic whimpers as her whole body convulsed on the bed and she rolled onto her back. The rustle of her clothing against the blanket left smears of red as she hauled first Karen, then David out into the yard and set them alight.

The blistering flames in her memory licked across her skin, scorching her guilt into her flesh as tiny, sweet Sophia lurched out of the barn, and the barn doors creaked to and fro while her baby leaked black blood onto the dirt. The sharp echo of the gun sounded too late and Sophia was already a crumpled corpse on the ground when it rang in her ears. With a sudden, raw gasp, she sat up in bed and gave a drawn-out grunt of pain as her body fought her. She ignored it as best she could, and frantically scrabbled at her clothing, clawing for the small holster her handgun rested in. She was choking, sobbing so hard she thought she might gag as she yanked the whole holster free from her body, pulling viciously at her damaged shoulder and flung it away from her, feeling her hand scalding where she had once gripped the weapon and aimed it at a little girl. _Four,_ she whispered to herself in her mind. _Four little girls._

Daryl glared wordlessly at Tyreese when the other man questioned him as he stomped down the front steps and headed into the darkened forest before he let his furious, heartbroken tears fall. It was pitch black, but he could see the faint light of Tyreese's lantern on the porch and he moved silently through the trees, slinging his crossbow onto his back and hefting the machete he'd taken, itching to slam it into something's skull. After a fruitless few minutes, he stopped and braced his forearm against the trunk of a tree. He leaned his forehead against his arm and inhaled deeply a few times. He thought of Beth's nervous, hopeful smile in that hospital corridor when he placed his hand on her back in greeting and the image rapidly changed to that of her brains and pieces of skull splattering across Rick's neck and face. He gagged and vomited a thin stream of bile onto the roots of the tree, before sniffing and wiping at his eyes.

He tried to focus instead on different memories of her; cradling baby Judith and singing to her in the wee hours of the morning; giggling and blushing sweetly as Zach piled her with compliments, surprising her with bunches of wildflowers or pretty trinkets from time to time. He thought of her laughing at him as he flopped down in the coffin in the funeral home and singing at the piano, surrounded by candles. He found his lips quirking momentarily at his own shock when she'd proclaimed _"I need a drink." _and then, later, when she'd discovered her inner arsonist and burned the shack down. The memory of snickering at her when she tasted the 'shine quickly turned ugly, though, as she got up in his face and accused him of counting her out. _"I'm not Michonne! I'm not Maggie, or Carol! I know you look at me and see just another dead girl-" _He smashed his fist into the rough bark of the tree.

He thought of Carol, black and blue with cracked ribs and internal injuries, curled up by herself in a strange house twenty minutes away, crying about yet another girl she felt responsible for. She'd said Beth had been there when she'd woken up, alone and in pain in the hospital. She was probably still awake, sobbing silently into a pillow so not to disturb the others. She'd had on a brave face all day but he could see right through it, and the pain in her eyes felt like broken glass to him until he couldn't bear to see it any more. He'd avoided her gaze but desperately craved her touch all evening, and he guessed the soothing touches she seemed to be handing out served as a balm to her own aching heart. As he imagined her suffering silently, all alone, he felt his remaining anger dissipate and his legs began carrying him back towards the house before he'd even fully recognized the desire to see her.

Tyreese had his rifle drawn and ready when Daryl stepped back onto view. He supposed he hadn't been too focused on stealth on his return trip and he probably sounded like an especially vigorous walker, but Tyreese lowered the gun and nodded warily to him, trying to gauge his mood. Daryl nodded back and clapped him on the arm as he passed. He headed silently up the long hallway, hearing most people tossing fitfully but apparently asleep. As he slipped past Glenn and Maggie's room, her raspy sobs make him cringe. It sounded like she'd wailed until her voice gave out that afternoon, and Glenn's soft murmurs reached him as the younger man tried to console his devastated wife.

The door to their room was still closed. He wasn't sure when he'd begun to consider he and Carol as a single entity, but the room was theirs regardless. He turned to handle and eased the door open as quietly as he could, trying not to wake her on the off chance that she'd managed to get to sleep. It creaked open and the weak light from the single solar light they'd planted in the room enveloped him.

"Daryl?" She croaked. She was lying on her back with a pillow clutched to her body, and the dim light caught the tears on her face that she hadn't bothered to wipe away.

"Yeah." He returned, lingering by the open door.

"I'm so sorry." She choked out, before she gave a hitching sob. "I didn't mean what I said before." She squeezed the pillow tighter and watched him stand in the doorway, unsure if he was welcome. Her eyes were wild, stricken and her chest was heaving as she gulped down sobs.

"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, sweetheart." He murmured lowly. The endearment slipped out without his permission but she didn't notice it as her face contorted, trying to hold in fresh tears. "'M sorry for walkin' out like that."

"I sent you away." She managed, rolling onto her side to face him. "But I need you here, I didn't mean to lash out at you… Please don't leave me." She forced the words out as her chest hitched and constricted.

"I ain't gonna leave you." He said. "It's okay." He shuffled over to the bed and leaned his crossbow against the bedside table. "You still want me t'sleep here?"

Her eyes met his and then skittered away guiltily. "Only if you want to." She whispered brokenly. "You don't have to."

"I want to." He reassured her quietly. He toed his boots off and left them neatly by the bed before he shucked his vest and eased himself onto the bed. He lay on his side and just took her in. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red, but she was scrutinizing him in much the same fashion he was her. Her hair was almost comically fluffy around her face and he assumed that whoever had been tending her at the hospital had taken the time to clean her up.

_ Beth._ Beth was the only person he could think of that would take the time to make sure Carol had her hair washed in the hospital from hell, even if she was unconscious and unable to appreciate the effort. He pressed his lips tightly together to regain control of his sadness and she reached up and gently pressed her fingertips to his trembling lips. He exhaled shakily and her fingers drifted up and along his cheekbone, up over his temple and into his hair. His eyes fluttered shut and she shifted closer to him.

"I'm sorry." She whispered again.

"Don' be." He whispered back. He shuffled closer to her and his hand hovered over her hip, unsure if he was allowed to touch her like that. Her eyes flickered to his hand and back to his face and she nudged even closer, until her thigh nudged his and her hand that was in his hair was pressed against his heart.

"It's okay." She whispered, and despite the endless grief in her eyes and her heavy heart she smiled with a smug sort of adoration at his awkwardness. His hand settled on the curve of her hip and she sighed. "You'll be okay, you know. It wasn't on you."

His throat constricted. "She got taken on my watch… 'S my fault she was there."

"No." She breathed. "We could've gotten out all together from that hospital. We were so, so close and she acted without thinking because she had an agenda."

He pulled back. "You're sayin' it was her fault?"

"No, no." She reassured him. "Just that she did what she did, on her own. You can't blame yourself for that."

He sighed heavily and slipped his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. She was surprised but let him nuzzle into her neck, breathing deeply and groaning a little against her skin. "I could'a stopped it. She was right there… Should'a grabbed her, dragged her out kickin' an' screamin' if we had to."

"You would have traded Noah for her?" She asked, cradling his head against her collarbone. "Forced her to leave him behind?"

"She knew him for a _day. _She's been with us for more'n a year… Known Maggie her whole damn life an' she went an' fucked that up without even thinkin' 'bout it." His words lacked bite; instead, they made a brittle echo against her skin.

"She did what she thought was right." She kissed his head and he twitched a little but otherwise didn't react. "She was brave."

"She's dead 'cause she thought she could take on a cop with a gun. That ain't brave." His fingers flexed against her back. "Was stupid, an' it got her killed." He shuddered against her. "Just a lil' girl an' she thought she could play hero."

Carol hushed him and gently squeezed the back of his neck, kneading the muscles and smoothing her fingers around to his collarbone. "It was fast." She whispered, shuffling even closer until she could duck her head under his chin and wrap her good arm around his waist. "She didn't even know it was coming."

His arm slipped around her waist and he slid his other arm under her body, holding her against him. She grit her teeth at the sharp pain in her ribs and chest when he pressed against the black and purple bruise that encompassed her entire side. He shifted his arm until it was less painful and he felt her relax against his chest. "Go to sleep." He rumbled into her hair. It smelled like hotel shampoo and gunpowder. He rubbed his hand slowly up and down her spine a couple of times until she sighed and nuzzled against the hollow of his throat.

"That feels nice." She breathed. He resumed the motion, feeling the light material of her shirt catch on the rough skin of his palms that had been rubbed almost raw by the shovel that afternoon. Her toes rubbed against his shin before she carefully tucked her calf in between his and he sighed heavily.

"'S weird," He muttered against her hair. "Thought it was getting' easier."

She hummed in agreement, flexing her fingers against his spine. "It's worse when you really know them."

"Naw." He disagreed. "'S worse when they're tryin' to help. Bob, he got snatched… Was bullshit havin' to watch him die but you can handle it, y'know?"

"I guess." She admitted.

"Dale, Lori…" He continued. "I didn't want any of 'em to die but it weren't hard to deal with, not like this. T, Andrea, Zach," He cleared his throat. "Herschel… Beth; they died tryin' to save people… Feels so much worse."

"I know." She breathed, her breath warm on his skin. That little spot of warmth anchored him, kept him from succumbing to another rush of emotion. She sniffled and he felt awful for bringing up all their dead family. Silence fell as Daryl's arm grew heavier across her waist and his breathing slowed down. Once he was asleep, shuddering fitfully in her arms but sleeping nonetheless, she ran her tongue over the broken skin of her lip where she'd bitten it. It was starting to swell and Daryl would probably notice it in the morning, but she felt a little better after allowing herself to break down in private.

She sighed one more time as the gentle warmth of his body began to lull her into relaxing, and his slow, steady heartbeat kept time with hers while she drifted to sleep.

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**Thank you for reading! If you have anything to say about it (even if it's just that you liked it/have some constructive criticism) then leave a review! Reviews help me feed the Caryl-beast :)**


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